


Purest Expression of Grief {haj dai}

by ghostwriterofthemachine



Series: Pragmatics of the Jedi [9]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order (Video Game), Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Ahsoka Tano Needs a Hug, Angst, Anxiety, Awful Things Happening to Poor Poor Babies, Cal Kestis Needs a Hug, Canon-Typical Discussion of Genocide, Conlang, Dai Bendu, Death of an OC, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Kanan Jarrus Needs a Hug, Languages and Linguistics, Loneliness, Post-Order 66, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:16:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26451724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwriterofthemachine/pseuds/ghostwriterofthemachine
Summary: Order 66 happens.Cal goes quiet, Kanan thinks too much, and Ahsoka can never go back.(Or; three children and a dying language, after they've seen their people die.)
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Cal Kestis & Prauf
Series: Pragmatics of the Jedi [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1885129
Comments: 29
Kudos: 296





	Purest Expression of Grief {haj dai}

**Author's Note:**

> This one. is Sad. 
> 
> But also I accidentally invented a Space Russian accent so. there's that?

Cal knows the Empire can track people when they use the Force. He hears it whispered about on street corners, broadcasted over the holoscreens in bars. 

He doesn’t know  _ how  _ they do it, though. And, more terrifyingly, doesn’t know what  _ else  _ they can track. 

There is a screaming, hysterical place inside him, irrational but un-ignorable, which is convinced that the Empire can reach into people’s minds and tear thoughts right out of them. That, if he thinks the wrong thing too loud or too often, he will bring the Empire down onto him. 

This is impossible, he tells himself. But then again, he also thought it was impossible to see his friends gun down his Master.

So Cal forces himself to only think in Basic. 

It isn’t hard to  _ talk  _ only in Basic, though he misses the curl of his lips over his other tongue more than he thought possible. But to  _ think  _ only in Basic is a constant, conscious choice. 

Sometimes he slips up, and he clamps down on his shields and moves away from where he was standing. His heart races in his chest. 

The last words his Master said to him echo in his dreams and they are not in Basic. He doesn’t want to think about those words, either. He has other things he needs to worry about.

There are very few kind people, here. And Cal is small and alone.

(He wonders if his Master would have done the same thing he did, had he known there was no one left to rescue Cal. The last thought in his Master’s mind had been of the council sending someone to scoop Cal up, safe and sound, bundle him away someplace warm — Cal can feel that from his lightsaber. But there is no one left to rescue him, and Cal’s Master had thrown him someplace cold and rainy and unsafe. There’s no one left to take care of him, not that Cal needs much taking care of, anymore.)

(Would he have made the same decision, if he knew Cal would be alone?)

His Master’s last words haunt him, in that language-which-is-not-Basic. He doesn’t think about those, either. Doesn’t think about at all.

The  _ alone  _ part makes him vulnerable on this planet, but the  _ small _ part makes him useful. He’s not old enough to be a full member of any guild, but there’s always plenty of pickup work for the  _ mice, _ as they’re called, in a scrapyard. Narrow heads and shoulders to fit up into places no one else could fit. 

It keeps him fed, and Cal keeps his head down. Days start to creep by. 

Today, there's a new worker on their rotation, and his Basic is thickly accented. 

And he says Cal’s name differently, rounds out the vowel — “Khal,” he calls, “Little mouse, you are small, come here, get up into tiny spaces, come on, up-up—” 

And it freezes Cal where he stands because— that’s almost right. That’s almost how you’d say his name in not-Basic, in that other thing he refuses to think about. 

He hears those last words from Master Tepal’s mouth — “ _ Padawan kat fehl, netana, paikawaji dai” —  _ and for a sudden, dizzying moment, that is all he can hear. 

He must freeze in place for a second too long, because someone calls to him again.

“Hey, Cal, buddy,” and Cal hates how he jumps. It’s Prauf, with the kind eyes, who seems to have decided that Cal needs looking after. “Cal, you okay there?”

Cal shakes his head to clear it. He can still hear the words whispering, but ignores them. 

_ “Haj dai, Jaieh,” _ he says, going for reassuring, already moving towards where the new worker pointed him. 

Prauf says, “What?” and he sounds so baffled that Cal turns back to him.

“What do you mean, what?”

“What did you just say to me?”

“I said ‘Yes, Prauf.’”

“No you didn’t. You said  _ haz _ —” Prauf twists his mouth around the words, and then gives up on saying the rest. “And, yeah, you called me something, what’s Jai—”    
  


“I didn’t say anything like that,” Cal bites. He sounds strangled, even to his own ears. “I said ‘Yes, Prauf,’ that’s what I said.”

Prauf, to his credit, raises his hands in acquiescence. “Okay, okay kid, that’s what you said.”

The new worker, who Cal doubts understood much of the conversation, chimes in with a high voice and a wave of his arms. “Yes, yes, very good, we all talk Khal out, all friends now, so if little mouse pleases, could he climb up into tiny space?”

Cal turns away from Prauf and pretends his heart isn’t trying to escape his chest as he pulls himself up into the gap between a ship’s wall and what used to be part of the thrusters. He’s got pliers clutched in between his teeth, and is biting a little more than necessary. 

He’s expecting troopers to grab his legs, yank him out, put a blaster to his head. He’s imagining the words floating up and dissolving into the Force, of his Jaieh tilting a disappointed eyebrow at him. 

He bites down on his language, and schools his thoughts into Basic. 

.

Kanan is working with a decent crew, right now. He signed on for a few milk run missions as general muscle and a gun, which should give him enough credits for basics and some wiggle room. They seem like a decent lot, and Kanan doesn’t mind working with them

Except. 

Well, except the Pilot’s name is  _ Caleb _ . And it is _ messing with Kanan’s head _ . 

“Hey, pass this to Caleb up on the bridge?” says Maleek, their mechanic and general tech guy. They’re holding a holo chip of something, probably maps. 

Kanan hates how much he falters, how his first instinct is to laugh and say, “I’m right here.”

“Sure thing.” He smiles and takes the chip, then starts making his way towards the front of the ship.

Honestly, he’s got no idea how this hasn’t happened sooner.  _ “Caleb” _ isn’t an  _ uncommon  _ name. It’s one that’s used on so many planets that it doesn’t really have a planet of origin. 

But it makes his body feel as if it’s peeling in two, future and past, twisting like soft dough, to hear it spoken in his presence like that.

_ “Agisti, _ ” says the laughing Padawan he has buried deep within him,  _ “tumi mikah Caleb!” _

“Kanan!” Pilot Caleb says, grinning as he spins around in his seat. “What can I do for you, buddy?”

“Take this off my hands.” He slumps himself into Kanan, gunslinger, wanderer, shit-talker. He flips the chip to the pilot whose name he didn’t want to think of, and ducks out of the cockpit as fast as possible. 

The community on this ship is incredible. Or, maybe, it is average, and Kanan has been alone for long enough that it seems incredible. 

And, even more surprising, they all seem to actually  _ like  _ him. Maleek fixes his blaster without being asked and Pilot Caleb keeps trying to get him into games of cards, the other guns and muscle jostle him in a friendly way when they pass him in the halls, and the captain says things about needing to help Kanan upgrade his armor, as if he’s going to stick around.

Kanan bites his tongue and pretends he doesn’t want to stick around. He can’t. 

He can’t trust anyone. He can’t rely on anyone, can’t get comfortable anywhere. He needs to keep moving.

Trust is easily shattered. Nothing is certain. 

He remembers his Master telling him about how important that was, how important it was to remember that nothing was certain, except the Force. That even their word for ‘yes,’ so concrete and decisive in Basic, gave room for ambiguity— “Force Wills,” the Jedi said. 

He can hear the giggling of younglings in the creche — “Will you clean up the paint, little one?”

“Haj dai!”  _ Force wills. _

“So why aren’t you doing that now?”   
  
“Force says no!”

Then squealing laughter, as the child is picked up and hugged and tickled. For being clever enough to make that connection, but silly enough to not help.

Nothing is concrete, nothing is certain, except the Force. And now Kanan doesn’t even have that to believe in. 

“Will I ever see you again?” he shouts to the woman in her dreams, who commands him to  _ run, _ who saves him and condemns him and gives him his new name. 

“Force wills,” she says, and it’s a lie and isn’t. Because she doesn’t say  _ yes. _

So Kanan cut his own braid and renamed himself and soldered ( _ ha _ ) on. 

He needs to walk away from these people, he realizes. He can’t stay, no matter how much he wants to. He can’t bring danger on them. He can’t let them be killed because he is found. 

In a ten-days time, the Pilot Caleb and Maleek and their caption will say, “Stay, Kanan.”

And he will want to say “ _ Yes _ .”  _ Haj dai. _

Force wills. 

He will run away again. 

_ (ibli kanan _ )

.

Ahsoka has gotten here too late. 

There aren’t that many Jedi left to rescue, though that’s something Ahsoka tries not to think about too much. Most of the ones who escaped the initial purge were hunted down in the very, very early days of the Empire, before there was enough structure in the Rebellion to even think about helping them. Ahsoka survived it by not being a Jedi. Well. That and Rex.

They’re always too late, with Jedi, if they even know at all. The Empire and the Inquisitors, always a step ahead. Always. 

As Fulcrum, Ahsoka’s jobs keep her away from the front lines. She works in intel. She works in running messages. She works with refugees. 

She’d been closest, when they heard the distress call. And, though Ahsoka would never admit it, part of her jumped and stood upright at the idea of saving a Jedi. Seeing another Jedi.  _ Speaking _ to them. 

But she’s gotten here too late. 

The crumpled form of a Duros is all that is left of the Inquisitors. A Duros with a hole through his chest, bleeding sluggishly, twitching the last bits of life out of himself. 

The Force wraps around him and weeps. Ahsoka knows that feeling. That’s what the Force always does, when a Jedi dies. 

Ahsoka falls to her knees next to the form. She cannot judge the age of this being, she thinks in a panic — she’s always been awful at judging age in Duros, Barriss used to tease her about it — but she’d guess a few years older or younger than herself. Ahsoka’s hands hover uselessly. There’s no healing this wound. She knows it.

Had she ever met him? In the Temple, all those years ago? Had they passed in the halls, handed each other food, shared friends?

Helpless to do anything else, Ahsoka gets the Doros’s head onto her lap. Off the ground. Some measure of comfort. 

She nearly jumps out of her skin when his eyes slit themselves open. When he stares up at her, eyes hazy, barely coherent. 

She nearly  _ passes out _ when a rush of warmth and relief swells through the Force between them, and the Doros  _ smiles  _ at her. 

_ “Jaieh  _ Tabris _ ,” _ he breaths out. The name is spoken as if it is comfort given form. His voice is achingly soft.  _ “Jesara, Jaiah. Henelru...foh keelak.” _

Ahsoka goes cold, because she recognizes the name. It conjures an image so old she thought she’d forgotten it. A Togrutan Master, maybe 10 years older than Obi-Wan. A soft-spoken and gentle woman, who liked to help teach children how to read. A woman who now shared Ahsoka’s coloring and build almost exactly, from montreals to face markings. 

She knows the tone of voice the Doros just spoke to her in. She used to use it every day. (Wishes, often, that she still could.) 

She’s holding Master Tabris’s Padawan. He’s dying in her arms. 

The relief in the Force twists a bit, and he repeats, “Jaieh?” with a little more uncertainty. The fear creeping back in. Of letting down your Master, letting down your people. Of dying alone. 

What else is Ahsoka supposed to do?

(Because if it were her— if it were her and Anakin, she’d want— even if it were pretend, she’d want—) 

“ _ Haj dai, Padawan _ ,” she says. She keeps her voice soft and even. “ _ Tamah foh bika. _ ” The words fall off her tongue as if she never stopped speaking this.

His eyes focus a bit more on her face. He tries to smile.  _ “Jaieh,” _ he says, actually  _ to her_ this time. And Ahsoka— 

Ahsoka—

Ahsoka remembers a time in her life when all she wanted was to hear someone call her that. Being 15 and imagining a future where she was doing the training, instead of being trained. Her head on Anakin’s knee and a campfire warm on her face, imagining a future in peacetime, Anakin cutting her silka beads off and her rising to her feet a Knight, embracing him while Obi-Wan embraced them both. She remembers the future she used to imagine for herself; solo missions, growing and improving, always returning home. Finally being taller than Anakin. Obi-Wan going easily, gracefully gray. 

She remembers imagining bringing her own Padawan to their lineage dinners, Anakin teasing them both, Obi-Wan resting and smiling. Imagining being in a position, one day, when a little Light would be hers to teach, and look up at her and call her  _ “Jaieh.” _

But Ahsoka never got to grow into that title. She never even got to be a Knight. She left her home a Padawan, and never got to return enough to become anything more. 

And now she never would. 

But Ahsoka cups the face of the person on her lap, whose name she would never know, and lets them both pretend. 

“ _ Rakaah foh wungak,”  _ chokes the man on her lap. “ _ Jaieh, sooah foh enoctak.” _

_“Leoah foh, Padawan. Leoah foh._ _Tamah foh bika, tamah foh bika.”_

His hand, nearly vibrating in effort, moves up to grasp hers. Ahsoka covers it with her other hand. She can feel the pain coming off him in waves, but she can also feel the peace. The knowledge that he is safe, now. 

And in some ways, Ahsoka thinks bitterly, she supposes he is. Even if he isn’t in the arms of his  _ Jaieh _ . Perhaps he soon will be. 

The fingers in hers tighten. The Padawan’s eyes close. 

_ “Komlah foh keelak, Jaieh. Komlah foh…” _

And he stops moving.

And Ahsoka doesn’t move for a long time. 

**Author's Note:**

> TRANSLATION NOTES:
> 
>  _Padawan kat fehl, netana, paikawaji uu dai:_ My Padawan, remember, trust only in the Force.  
> -"Kawaji" is "trust," in the future tense, and "pai" is our consequential prefix, which means that the action will have lasting consequences. This takes the place of the "only" for denouncing how important this piece of information is.  
> -"Dai," the word for the Force, never has an article before it. 
> 
> _Haj dai, Jaieh:_ Yes, Master.  
> -Haj dai literally translates to "Force Wills" 
> 
> _Agisti, tumi mikah Caleb!:_ Hello, I am called Caleb!  
> -"Agisti" is a greeting you would give someone who has the same rank in the Order as you, who you are equals with-- Padawan to Padawan, for instance. 
> 
> _ibli kanan:_ Little runner
> 
>  _Jesara, Jaiah. Henelru...foh keelak:_ Hello, Master. I...missed you.  
> -"Jersara" is a respectful greeting; Padawan to Master, Master to Council member, ect. 
> 
> _Tamah foh bika:_ I am here
> 
>  _Rakaah foh wungak. Jaieh, sooah foh enoctak:_ I feel pain. Master, I feel pain.  
> -There are different words for feeling physically and feeling mentally, as well as different words for mental and physical pain.  
> The first sentence is declaring he is physically feeling (raka, here in present tense) physical pain (wung, here in accusative case), and the second that he is mentally feeling (soo, here in present tense) mental pain (enoct, here in accusative case).
> 
>  _Leoah foh, Padawan. Leoah foh. Tamah foh bika, tamah foh bika:_ I know. I know, Padawan. I am here, I am here.
> 
>  _Komlah foh keelak, Jaieh. Komlah foh...:_ I love you, Master. I love...  
> -"Koml" refers specifically to familial/platonic love

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